Page 22 of A Beastly Court

I wasn’t given the chance to explore that wayward thought before the old wooden door was unlocked and shoved open. It wasn’t Mrs. Bilberry coming to collect me this time, but the fae king himself. The delight on his face was quickly replaced by outrage.

“What did you do?” he bellowed, brushing me aside and storming inside. He sputtered, turning a full circle in the cramped walkway between all the pots. His fingers knotted into his coppery curls like he was seconds away from ripping his hair out. “Why is this all still green?”

Glaring, I picked myself up from where I’d fallen, brushing the dirt and terra-cotta fragments from the white fur coat. The orange mum I’d landed on now resembled a smashed pumpkin. “So I can draw from them tomorrow,” I said curtly, adding (and very immaturely, too, though I couldn’t help myself), “duh.”

“You were supposed to drain them! I could’ve had more delivered tomorrow! And why is this sapling a tree now?”

“Ossian,” I said sharply, at the end of my patience, first because I was tired, secondly because of his rough treatment. “I’m not going to kill the equivalent of a forest just to release this curse. And the willow—I had to have a subject to test my magic on.”

“That’s what the cloch na wight’s for,” he shouted.

“Well I didn’t want to interrupt my imprisonment to go test myself every few hours!” That was only half the truth, but I certainly made it sound like the whole truth. Escaping from this courtyard—and him—was becoming more appealing with every second.

“I should lock you back in here for the rest of the night,” he snarled. “Until these flowers are ash and this tree”—he slapped the willow, the slender branches quivering with the impact—“is nothing but a toothpick!”

“Stop it!” I cried. “I couldn’t even if I tried. I’m exhausted.” I dashed the angry, hurt tears away from my eyes so I could glare at him. Had I known fated mates treated each other this way, I would’ve rejected that bond like a worm-infested apple. Chucked it right into the compost heap! “Why are you being such a beast? I’ve already made more progress in the last two days than I have since I was cursed, and this is a pace these plants and I can maintain. I’ll have the curse lifted maybe in a week, maybe ten days—”

“Maybe? Maybe?” He seized my shoulders so hard I actually cried out. Green flared in his jewel-bright eyes, copper magic sparking at his fingertips. His handsome face was suddenly very, very ugly, and no golden haze could convince me otherwise. “You have no time to waste! Have you forgotten that the curse is only half of our problem? The portal must be summoned and anchored, a portal that needs to be found first, in case you’re forgotten.”

I shoved him away, green magic glowing at my own fingertips. “I haven’t! And you’re supposed to be the one figuring out all the preferred conditions and environments to do so instead of tinkering in your silversmithy. Or have you done nothing in your exile these past few centuries except feel sorry for yourself? Is that it?”

At those words, something inside me shifted, the freed part of my magical core rousing with a golden-green light. My ivy-green eyes narrowed as the magic at my fingertips strengthened, spreading to the entirety of my hands.

“Ossian.” My voice was quiet, dangerous. I was a cornered bobcat in the face of a wolf, but I still had claws. “How many others have you given this sob story to? How many other witches have you fooled with talk of love and empty promises? Why is it that only a woman can summon and open this portal, Ossian? Answer me!”

Disgust marred his handsome features. “Every time,” he growled, though more to himself than to me. At his throat, two dormant gemstones came alive as he called upon their magic. “Every time you free more of your magic, you remember. Despite that tonic and the powder. It’s my own fault—losing my temper with you only negates my illusions, but you’re an infuriating woman, Meadow. But your grandmother really was right. You need to be wooed. Daily, apparently.”

“What are you saying?” I whispered. “I remember what? And what about Grandmother?”

He dug his hand into the largest pouch on his belt, withdrawing a palmful of white powder.

“Is that Caer powder?” I gasped. From the way he’d so easily extracted it from that pouch, it was clear he’d used it many times before.

On me.

That realization killed any chance of escape. Ossian grabbed me, blowing the power straight into my eyes. But his was a bittersweet victory, for at the same time he struck, so did I.

I couldn’t see anything with the white cloud consuming my vision, but I certainly felt the blast of green magic connect with the side of his face, of his flesh sizzling and shrinking like fish skin when hit with boiling water.

The fae king roared, but I barely heard him. My focus, my panic, all of my recent memories—they were being erased.

Scritch… Scritch…

The blue-eyed barn owl screeched in response, flapping madly against the ceiling like a moth against a window.

I know it was tasked to help me, but thistle thorns, I wanted to kill it for all the racket.

“By the Green Mother,” I declared with my eyes firmly shut, “I’m going to blast the entire roof off and sleep under the stars. Then you’ll have nowhere to tunnel and nibble and be a nuisance. And you, bird, can then take your creepy blue eyes somewhere else!”

Thrusting upwards with a glowing fist, I hit the ceiling with three quick blasts of green magic. The owl screamed, avoiding the blasts but getting caught in the deluge of plaster. The bird fell, and so did my tormentor, twisting through the twenty-foot fall to the bed with a yowl.

I choked on the cloud of dust, dispersing it with wide sweeps of my hands. It did little to improve the visibility in my room, and I realized with a start it was the middle of the night. That was the light of the December moon filtering in from the diamond-pane windows, not the gray glow of dawn.

Luminous amber eyes stared back at me in the gloom, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, striped fur and a long tail resolved.

A c-cat?

With a scream, I simultaneously threw off the covers and scuttled back against the headboard, wrenching my foraging bag onto my lap. The magical bolts that had destroyed a large chunk of my ceiling had left me drained, stupidly so. I should’ve held something back in reserve for this exact moment.